


For Good Vibes

by NinaFey



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinaFey/pseuds/NinaFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully's encounter with a magical herb, courtesy of a New England witch.  Set after IWTB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Good Vibes

The front porch’s floor creaked under his bare feet. Mulder was enjoying the relative warmth of the night and the occasional cool breeze that blew across their new/old house. It had been a good six months since they had moved into this old Massachusetts house, he’d have to admit that his eyes must have lit up at the prospect of the house being remotely haunted. But the noises they both heard one night turned out to be a couple of raccoons and old pipes that needed replacement. He grinned remembering the way Scully had looked at him when discovering that his friendly ghosts had turned out to be friendly rodents.  It had been the same look of amused disbelief she had been giving him for over fifteen years.  It would probably be the same one she’d give him tonight when he filled her in about today’s misadventures.

Since his official FBI ‘pardon’ had been granted he had been conducting his own independent investigations on tabloid articles on possessions and abductions. He’d usually call her to detail the case and Mulder could almost hear the smile in her voice as Scully explained how most possessions were simply cultural manifestations of different psychiatric conditions followed by a request to bring her back a bottle of that honey they sold off the highway she liked so much.  However, today’s case had been so ridiculous, even by his standards, that it merited to be told in person.

There had been a cover story on a baker who had allegedly come into possession of ‘witch powers’. And Mulder was nothing but a sucker for the possibility of witchcraft and it was just a couple of town overs after all. Perhaps he should have known the minute he stepped foot into the place and its definite ‘flower child’ fumes and music but he let his enthusiasm take over. He really did need Scully; she would have shaken her head just at the sight of rescued anti-Vietnam War posters that decorated the walls and the smell of incense in the air. Especially considering the owner and ‘daughter of Manon’ was pale 23 year old woman with dreadlocks.  Mulder counted the times he was referred to him as ‘bro’ in her story of awakening into witchcraft. Fifteen times in the span of 3 minutes.  As far as Mulder could tell, this witch’s powers seemed to derive from cannabis sativa and its fungal friends.

The only bit of magic she had been able to perform was to sneak a bag of pot into his pocket with a note attached to it; ‘For good vibes’ and high times, apparently.  Had it been a different time, Mulder would have thrown it away, lest AD Skinner have a fit as to why his random drug test came back positive. But as a free and pardoned man he felt he could keep it, even if it came from a half-baked witch.  Mulder took it out of his jeans’ pockets to regard at his semi-magical gift and noticed that this New England witch had decided, thoughtfully enough, to also include wrapping paper. A laugh escaped him as he tried to picture his partner’s reaction. A furrowed brow? Maybe. A deep sigh followed by “Oh my God, Mulder” said in a way that no one else ever could. What would she do after? Stuff it in a kitchen drawer? Flush it down the toilet? This was uncharted territory and suddenly a child-like excitement invaded him.

Mulder rocked himself on his heels and pursed his lips as he heard the familiar sound of Scully’s car engine coming down the semi-secluded road. Soon enough, she was stepping out of the car, her hair tied into a messy post-surgery braid. It had gone well, he could tell from her evident but tired smile which gained an air of suspicion as she approached the front porch. Scully eyed him curiously, already sensing his pursed lips were tied to some sort of mischief.

“Mulder?” She looked up at him in anticipation, expecting him to produce some sort of paranormal relic.

“Doc.” He was well aware that everything about him was giving him up. “How was your day?”

“Not as good as yours, I suspect.” Scully walked past him and practically threw herself on the porch swing, which looked older than the house itself. She kicked off her shoes and sighed with relief, all too aware about Mulder’s excited impatience.

“Well, I don’t know about that. But, I did meet a sort of not really a witch today…”

“Mulder, tell me you didn't drive all the way to Salem. Again.” Her raised eyebrow could have been interpreted as some sort of disapproval but the amusement in her voice betrayed her.

“Boxborough, actually.” He laughed and leaned against one of the columns facing the swing.  “Word was there was a young woman who recently come into contact with witchcraft. Made the front page of _The Morning Mirror_. Gave her octogenarian neighbors quite a fright actually…”

“And?” Scully _knew_ that it hadn't panned out the way Mulder had hoped but that didn't explain why he seemed so pleased with himself.

“Turned out to be your classic run of the mill New England witch tale; random accusation at a town-meeting. Not that the ‘witch’ in question wasn't playing her role and reveling in it.  The whole thing boiled down to a fraud of a witch and perfectly logical explanations behind the stories.” He was baiting her and they both knew it, Mulder could tell by the way she moistened her lips and she could tell by the way both his eyebrows arched in anticipation.

“Really? Perfectly logical explanations?” She said in a tone of hidden suggestion only Mulder could decipher.

“Turns out her inclinations were more toward the botanical than the occult.” He reached into his pocket and held the bag up to his face before tossing it over to Scully.

“Oh my God.” The end of her words were laced with traces of laughter.  “I was expecting a rabbit’s foot not...”

“Our mystical friend Mary Jane?”

“Yes. And how much did Boxborough’s resident witch charge for it?” She eyed the bag closely and scoffed as she read the note in the bag.

“Nothing, it was an unrequested parting present. Think she was just grateful for the attention the story got her or she’s highly creative about her marketing strategy.” Mulder rubbed his neck, with school-boy nerves. Here he was in brand new Dana Scully territory. This is probably what the crew of Apollo 11 felt like back in ‘69.

“She probably thought she was making a new customer.” Scully said lowly as she opened the bag to smell the pot. “Smells like the halls of a college dorm. Throw in cheap beer and it’s 1980 all over again.” Her nose was wrinkled in clear distaste which earned her a toothy smile from Mulder.

“Add damp and pretension and it smells a bit like Oxford too.”

“Did you ever…?” Scully could hardly get the words out with a straight face.  She couldn't believe she was having this conversation well into her middle age. Pot wasn't on the list of things she expected to home to when she left for work this morning. But this was Fox Mulder, of course he was gifted weed by a witch.

“Once. Ended up stashed into a cupboard, claiming that my flatmate was a British government agent sent to get me.” This piece of information was delivered in a serious tone which only made her unrestrained laughter all the more satisfying. “You laugh, but he did end up working for British Intelligence. My fears were not so wholly unfounded.”

“They never are.” Her laughter quieted down as the markings of an idea appeared on her face. Without saying another word she was gone and returned with a box of matches just as Mulder had begun to walk after her.

“Don’t tell me that former Special Agent Dana Scully is willing to engage in illegal activities.” His tone was that of mock surprise but the shock was real.

“Mulder, please. We engaged in illegal activity while we were both at bureau. And like you said… _former_ special agent.” Scully returned to the porch swing and stretched out on it.  Mulder joined her and placed her legs on his lap. Not even Neil Armstrong had felt this way in the moon and he was sure this translated to wide-eyed wonder judging by Scully’s gaze.

Before he could crack a joke Scully was already delicately rolling the weed, as if she were a habitual smoker. He could never accuse her of not keeping her promises, she always did keep him guessing.

“You have your photographic memory, but I have tactile memory.” Her voice sounded almost triumphant. “Freshman year, I managed to roll one decently on my first try. It became my roommate’s most frequent request even if I didn't smoke.” She said handing him the fine joint.  Mulder was unashamedly looking at her with amazement and affection and to see it mirrored in her just caused his lips to curl into a smile. If it weren't for his grey hairs and the soft lines around both of their eyes, they could both be confused with dopey teenagers.

Mulder paused before putting the joint in his mouth and lighting it. “What if I get paranoid, again?” There wasn't much concern in his voice but the memory of tight cupboard suddenly flashed his senses.

“Good thing there’s a doctor in the house then.”

His jaw dropped in disbelief. “Doctor Scully…what would the neighbors say?” And almost on cue, crickets started chirping. She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together, recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation.  He lit up the joint and took one long puff, causing him to cough afterwards. “Oh, vanillaaaa.” Mulder managed to say and passed it to her.

“What?” Not quite sure of her age, Scully took a short puff and immediately knew what Mulder meant. The damn thing was vanilla scented or at least the wrapper was.

“Did I mention that our witch was baker?” His voice getting mellower already.

“No, you didn't. But it really shines through.” She appreciated the vanilla touch, kept the smell of pot at bay, at least enough to fool some of her senses.

“You think she might have thrown in some brownies for kicks.”

“A real witch might have, maybe” A giggle escaped her mouth as Mulder lazily rubbed his hand across her legs.  

 

Time seemed to have slowed down, which was more than welcomed on a warm night like this. Scully was sure that at one point Mulder had argued, when staring at the moon, that the only feasible cheese that could make it up was Swiss. She was very much aware of the short and silly noises that come out of her mouth and even more of her counterargument ‘No, Mulder, it is very obviously blue cheese. It’s much denser not to mention tougher. It could never be Swiss.” To which he closed his eyes; his laughter caged in his chest. “Must make for some tasty moon dust.” Soon after his mono-toned rendition of Dean Martin’s classic about true love, the moon and pizza, the inevitable happened. Copious amounts of pizza (with plenty of green peppers) were soon delivered to their door step and in an act of subtle paranoia, Mulder over-tipped the delivery guy. He assumed he was paying for his silence. However, according to Scully, now he was just known as the over-tipper from the edge of town.

Following stolen pizza bites and a not so ridiculous discussion on the physical composition of souls, they managed to settle into their living room couch; one drowsy and content doctor resting on top of a slightly less restful paranormal investigator. There weren't many sounds in their old house, just the crickets chirping outside, the occasional passing of the wind and their synchronized breathing. It _was_ good to have a doctor in the house, Mulder thought. He breathed in the smell of her shampoo and planted two long kisses on her hair causing Scully to stir and nuzzle against his neck.

“Have you ever actually looked at yourself, Scully?”  Mulder realized his question came out more existential than he had intended.

“Hmm?” She felt heavy against his body and the warmth from it was slowly but surely lulling her into sleep. “What do you mean?” Scully’s eyes were closed and her words were barely more than mumbles.

“You’re just so…you know.” Suddenly he wasn't feeling too eloquent, not knowing if it was a drug or Scully effect.  Maybe it was both.

“No, I don’t. Tell me.” Scully laughed lightly against his chest.

“Just…so you.” He wanted to elaborate, perhaps to an embarrassing extent, but the words weren't coming out. Instead he contended himself by brushing a few loose hairs off her face and smiling against her hair, confident she’d understand.

Scully lifted her head, which felt like a titanic effort, gazed at him briefly and kissed him softly before returning to her place on his chest.

“Aren't you glad tomorrow’s your day off, doc?” He draped his arm lazily over her figure.

“Go to sleep, Mulder.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
